


Dark Water

by mevima



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Breathplay, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dark!Aziraphale, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot, Praise Kink, Water Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:15:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28256040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mevima/pseuds/mevima
Summary: Crowley would give his angeleverythingas long as Aziraphale kept looking at him like he meant something.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32
Collections: The Repossessed December 2020 Holiday Event





	Dark Water

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "The Repossessed" server's December event, wherein participants were asked to choose a fear or squick and make it sexy. I chose being underwater. Enjoy!

Whenever the thick leather blindfold slipped over his eyes, Crowley had learned to submit. His body relaxed all of its own, before he'd even had the chance to think about it, his chin lifting to allow the tight straps to buckle the blindfold firmly into place.

The leather settled, and Crowley's thoughts quieted, his focus narrowing. Aziraphale wanted something from him, and nothing else mattered: what Aziraphale wanted, Aziraphale got.

Silently, warm hands manipulated Crowley's body as if he were a doll, turning him this way and that, taking firm grasp of his limbs to strip him of his clothing. Crowley offered no resistance, savoring how gently Aziraphale's fingers brushed against his skin. He knew the gentleness wouldn't last, and tried to soak it in, gathering each soft touch into a ball of comfort that he would be able to cling to later.

Crowley had been dozing, draped over the bookshop couch, before insistent hands had woken him with the blindfold. He idly wondered if there were still customers in the shop; he had no way of knowing, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway. Aziraphale had put the blindfold on, so Aziraphale was in charge now. If he wanted Crowley on display, it would happen.

On display in front of humans, or angels, or even other demons – Crowley shuddered, and held tightly to his little ball of gentle warmth.

The hands left him, and for a moment Crowley only listened to the rustling sounds of the angel moving. He heard a soft tap as something was set down on the rug next to the couch; wood hitting wood in the same spot, and the slosh of liquid. A table, then, and perhaps a bucket? A curl of anxiety made Crowley shift on the couch, shying away from the unknown, and Aziraphale was immediately there, soothing him with wordless sounds and a sweet kiss to the forehead.

When Crowley let himself relax again, leaning into Aziraphale's touch, he could feel the angel's lips curve into a smile against his skin. "Good boy," Aziraphale murmured. "You can take it. You always take it so beautifully for me. You give me exactly what I want, don't you, my lovely, wretched little demon?"

Crowley made a pathetic noise, the praise and the insult twisting his insides into confused arousal, and then he was moved again, lifted and bent firmly over the arm of the couch where Aziraphale had placed the objects. Arms flailing out for support, he caught himself on the sofa, then gasped when Aziraphale firmly pushed at his hips, crushing his sensitive cock against rough fabric.

"Aziraphale – " Crowley started, forgetful, and a hand immediately smothered his speech, fingers digging pointedly into his jaw. Right. No talking while the angel was taking his pleasure, he remembered, he  _ did, _ and he whined through Aziraphale's grip.

Two fingers slipped into his mouth, possessively pressing down onto his tongue, and Crowley let them in, wrapping his tongue around them with a sigh. He had been forgiven, then; his body relaxed just in time for a sharp swat to land on his ass, and Crowley gave a choked yelp, barely avoiding snapping his teeth shut.

"Much better, darling," Aziraphale murmured, his hand withdrawing from Crowley's mouth, leaving the demon panting.

Crowley wasn't surprised when those same fingers, barely wet with saliva, pressed into him, both forcing their way into his entrance. He breathed, sternly telling the muscles to relax, and clung to his precious ball of gentle warmth, remembering soft touches, sweet kisses and shared moments.

He didn't honestly know how it had ended up like this, when Aziraphale had started leashing him, claiming him, holding him tighter than he could stand… but of course, he could stand it. He  _ loved _ Aziraphale, loved the silly hedonistic angel who walked the thin line between disapproving of Heaven and enacting their orders here on Earth.

Crowley  _ could _ stand this, would take it, would give his angel  _ everything _ as long as Aziraphale kept looking at him like he meant something, like he was more than the nothing that the Fall had made of him.

Sometimes, loving an angel hurt. But the empty ache that opened in Crowley's chest at the thought of being alone was far worse.

While Aziraphale roughly opened him up, fingers scissoring brusquely with little respect for his comfort, Crowley focused on the gentle hand that rested on his waist and the angel's quiet noises of pleasure. That pleasure was for him, for how obedient he was being and how much Aziraphale wanted him. Those sounds meant Crowley  _ mattered _ , and that thought let the demon finally release a real moan, thrusting his hips back to meet Aziraphale's fingers.

"That's it, darling, that's good," Aziraphale murmured, twisting his fingers before adding a third. Crowley whimpered, as much for the praise as the burning stretch of it, and spread his legs wider.

Too soon, Aziraphale pulled out, wiping his slick fingers on the small of Crowley's back. The slide of Aziraphale's zipper was strangely loud, almost obscene, and then the blunt head of his cock pressed insistently in without pause, wider and deeper than Crowley had been prepared for - but  _ this, _ he was used to this, and he rolled his hips into it, helping Aziraphale sink his claim deeper into Crowley's body. The angel's hands held tightly to Crowley's waist, his soft flesh a familiar heat against the sharp angles of Crowley's back, and Crowley  _ lived _ for the moment when Aziraphale groaned, the subtle tremor and satisfied noise that meant Aziraphale was pleased with him.

Aziraphale always, always got what he wanted.

The angel had been softer with him than usual so far – demanding and implacable, but gentle in his own way – so Crowley was caught by surprise when Aziraphale took firm hold of the straps on the back of his head, sucking in a sudden breath that turned into a moan when Aziraphale used the leverage to shove his cock the rest of the way inside.

"Take a deep breath, love," Aziraphale murmured, deceptively tender.

While Crowley was still turning the words over in his mind, Aziraphale pushed his head downward, arching his body forward over the couch. His face hit water, cold and shocking, and he sputtered, trying to lift himself back up,  _ out, _ to get free of the liquid that flooded his mouth and nose, but Aziraphale held him firm, the angel always stronger than he seemed, and dragged his cock back just to drive it in again in a short, pointed thrust.

Crowley gasped despite himself, inhaling water – and just as quickly as he had been pushed under, he was yanked upright again. Coughing, choking, spitting up water, Crowley's eyes burned behind the blindfold as his body convulsed with the need for air, and Aziraphale just kept rocking into him, the angel's voice tight with pleasure when he spoke.

"I told you to take a breath."

Crowley could only cough in response, urgently trying to concentrate enough to miracle his lungs clear. After a moment, Aziraphale sighed and did it for him, allowing Crowley to take a few raw, overwhelming breaths.

"Thank you," Crowley said, sincere gratitude filling the words.

Aziraphale didn't scold him for speaking this time, apparently pleased with the response. "Are you going to  _ listen _ this time?" he demanded instead.

Crowley nodded blindly, quickly, though he flinched when Aziraphale took firm hold of the straps again. He knew the game now, and that was both a curse and a blessing; now that he knew the rules, Aziraphale was liable to up the ante.

"Good boy. My sweet, malleable demon. Ready? Deep breath."

Without being able to see it, the plunge this time was just as shocking, though Crowley was prepared for it. Aziraphale drove into him, and the water sloshed; the demon couldn't see, couldn't hear, could only feel the harsh, stinging slide of Aziraphale taking pleasure from his body.

His hands slipped off the couch, and Crowley reached out instinctively for something, anything to keep himself steady. A rough surface met his flailing hands, and he grabbed tightly to what he now realized was a wooden bucket, clinging to it as he began to wonder just how long Aziraphale was going to hold him under.

He didn't need to breathe. Of course he didn't, but as it went on longer, his body stopped believing him, and Crowley bucked up uselessly against Aziraphale's restraining hands while the angel used him pitilessly, each sharp thrust burying deep inside him and dragging out pleasure that edged into pain. Crowley's lungs burned and his throat ached, fingers scrabbling at the edge of the wooden bucket even as he was filled and emptied and filled again, his unfairly hard cock swaying beneath him with every movement.

Suddenly, air, and Crowley pulled in a breath so deep that he choked on the sweetness of it, nearly sobbing with his body's urgency. Aziraphale gave him only a moment, rocking into him steadily, then used his grip on the blindfold to shake Crowley and grab his attention.

"Once more now," Aziraphale warned, and Crowley pretended he could hear affection in that cold tone.

Crowley knew better than to whimper; he needed that breath in his lungs instead. He merely nodded, barely given the time to inhale before Aziraphale shoved him back into the depths. This time, Aziraphale's other hand slid around his stomach, wrapped around his cock, and it took everything Crowley had not to lose that precious air by moaning into the water.

Denied oxygen for too long, knowing Aziraphale was drawing close, Crowley didn't hold back the fight. One hand slammed down on the table, rocking the bucket but not overturning it, and he shoved against that unyielding angelic strength, chest convulsing, muscles seizing – but his hips moved, too, meeting Aziraphale thrust for thrust, driving his own cock into the tight, near-painful circle of Aziraphale's hand. Blind and deaf, pinned and writhing, Crowley felt himself racing towards a peak he didn't understand and couldn't avoid.

Aziraphale slammed into him hard, grabbing his hip with one hand and jerking his cock harshly with the other; suddenly free, Crowley reared up, splashing water everywhere in his frantic escape; and his orgasm ripped through him before he could even cry out, every muscle taut with the agonizing ecstasy that Aziraphale forced his ravaged body to endure.

In the open air again, Crowley gave great, heaving sobs, rising into cries of protest when Aziraphale didn't stop dragging his hand over the aching flesh of his cock. The angel made soothing noises that Crowley could barely hear over his own wordless pleas for mercy, and pulled Crowley up and back until his head rested on Aziraphale's shoulder, still full, still raw, now begging for it to be  _ enough, angel, please, can't it be enough… _

"You're doing so well," Aziraphale cooed gently in Crowley's ear, and something snapped. He sagged in Aziraphale's grip, tears trickling from beneath the blindfold, tracking over his wet cheeks. It didn't stop and it didn't stop and it  _ didn't matter, _ Aziraphale had him, Aziraphale had what he wanted and what he wanted was  _ Crowley. _

Eventually, Crowley realized that the torment had stopped long before, he didn't know when, and Aziraphale was gently unbuckling the straps from around his head. He turned in Aziraphale's arms, limbs aching and loose and free, throat sore and eyes squinting in the dim light.

Aziraphale smiled at him like the sun, bright approval and warmth that restored that ball of light Crowley had secreted away.

Scoured out, gasping like he was underwater again, Crowley slumped in Aziraphale's arms and sobbed.


End file.
